Reality Check
by manic
Summary: Truth versus Fiction, which one wins in the end?
1. Author's Note

ArisuYe said "didn't know I did funny." Pffit! To that. Before I hit this fandom, pretty much everything I did was funny. This story came about because of a discussion about RPS (ewwww). Rather than write about Jerry Falwell and Tinky-Winky, I wrote about this. It's all dialogue, it has no redeeming purpose, and it's just there. 


	2. Reality Check

"Look, there's another one!"  
  
"What are you blabbering about now?"  
  
"There's another story."  
  
"About us?"  
  
"Well, who else?"  
  
"Just wondering, I found this really interesting Man from Uncle site the other day, something 40."  
  
"Look, there's another one."  
  
"You have to quit hitting reload."  
  
"But they keep popping up. And they store them places. Lots of places. They're all over the web."  
  
"I didn't purchase a 3000 pound computer so you could surf the web all night and day."  
  
"Well why did you buy it?"  
  
"It had a flat screen and DVD burner."  
  
"Stop. Look every time I log on there are at least five new stories about us floating around hyperspace."  
  
"But most of those stories aren't even finished."  
  
"Is that even the point? Look at this one."  
  
"Wouldn't that hurt?"  
  
"All I know is you aren't getting four fingers anywhere near me. I mean they usually stick with the one, two, three method."  
  
"The what?"  
  
"The one finger, two finger, three finger, sex method."  
  
"I, what? What about fingers?"  
  
"The traditional sex method, insert one finger, wiggle it a bit, insert another finger, wiggle and scissors those, put in another finger, hit the prostate, remove fingers, have mind-blowing sex. Wait a few minutes, do it again. Talk a bit, do it again. You read these, you know what they're like."  
  
"I just wanted to hear you say it."  
  
"Shut up. And stop reading over my shoulder."  
  
"That position isn't even possible in nature. And what the hell? Men don't have hymens. Don't they even know basic anatomy?"  
  
"Oh, sorry. That's the MPreg list."  
  
"The what?"  
  
"Male pregnancy list. You get a hymen there. Unless they're really weird and you get one anyway."  
  
"Men can't get pregnant."  
  
"Well, they can't do that either, and that didn't stop the author from writing some 100,000 word epic."  
  
"No one sane would ever write about men having babies."  
  
"Women would."  
  
"So?"  
  
"Well most of this stuff is written by women, who are married, some have kids."  
  
"And they're writing about rimming?"  
  
"And fisting."  
  
"Not in that position... Women are writing this? Like my mother?"  
  
"2.5 kids and pet."  
  
"What's this whole debate... who the hell cares if I've got a foreskin?"  
  
"Well, if you follow this debate, all of them, all 700 members of this list care."  
  
"Why aren't they obsessing over your foreskin?"  
  
"Because I'm always the blushing virgin. You get to continually deflower me."  
  
"Not in this one... I'm a virgin? At forty? I'm a middle-aged virgin? That's actually quite sick."  
  
"And that isn't even the worst."  
  
"It's not?"  
  
"No, the worst part of the whole thing are those."  
  
"Those children's' books?"  
  
"The books that brought the author 300 million pounds."  
  
"300..."  
  
"She's the second richest person in England, next to the Queen. And she's not done yet."  
  
"Not done."  
  
"There are three more books to come."  
  
"You should have never have said anything to her in the cafe."  
  
"I asked her for a light."  
  
"She asked about the scar."  
  
"Should have waited for the plastic surgeon to come to hospital."  
  
"It was late, I was tired, and I didn't want to lurk around the bloody A & E."  
  
"And you have a scar."  
  
"And you have greasy, filthy hair."  
  
"You would too if you'd just spent the night in hospital with your lover who'd been beaten up by a mob of Arsenal shites."  
  
"Why are you never that upset at this stuff?"  
  
"Because, you idiot, they always peg me as virile, capable of many orgasms and very well endowed."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
"Come here."  
  
"Shut up, I'm wiggling my fingers at you."  
  
"Bite me."  
  
"I still don't get the names, Harry and Severus?"  
  
"Neither do I, Nigel and Ewan are more suited."  
  
"So, do you think we can sue for royalties?" 


End file.
